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Where September Was Long Chapter 55
"Don't push yourself too much, though. It will set you back."
Jon huffed.
"Don't worry. I already have a bunch of med staff nagging me about that." "Is any of them your mother?"
Her son rose his eyebrows.
"Are you?"
It wasn't said with intentional malice, Catelyn could tell and Jon sighed, looking a little ashamed.
"Sorry, that was shitty of me…"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
His face is getting clammy with sweat, his palms too, stomach a knot of pain, bad enough that he has to pull himself into a fetal position, despite his general soreness. Jon doesn't know, mustn't know, he's going through enough already. What's some bruises compared to... The door opens and closes, quietly, the floor creaking a bit. Mattress dipping.
"I'm so sorry, lad. After everything with Jon, all you've done for him... And now this." A hand on his least sore shoulder, broad and soothing. The kind of hand you'd expect a father to have. Ned Stark's faults are normal and human, he's not cruel, Satin knows that. You don't raise someone like Jon Snow if you're cruel.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The body lying still on the grass could already be dead, they don't know, can't tell, but one of the girls insists she saw the dog run after the explosion and so, they hurry to lift the man away, a heavy task but adrenaline and survival instinct go a long way and he's carried along with the fleeing crowd, unconscious even as the fire reaches the thankfully few remaining vehicles on the parking lot – few people here have cars and tonight, they thank their lucky star for that.
In the chaos, a crowd can mean more problems, but also be the solution.
FREE ME!!!!!!! Idk from what...I just want to be free from literally everything
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The child in his arms is no longer quiet. He's crying and crying, inconsolable no matter how Ned tries to rock him. He should be at his mother's breast, but there is none and in all honesty, there's no need for a paternity test either, because Ned just knows.
He takes his shirt off, skin on skin contact is important, they read about it together, him and Cat.
"It's alright, little one... Shh... I'm here, we'll figure it out..."
Where September Was Long Chapter 51
"I... I was thinking about making some new ads again, some autumn theme before..." "Lovey?" "Huh?" "It's alright." Satin looks up, seeing the hollow face on the pillow, the soft lips that don't smile, the braid resting on the other shoulder and Jon holds his gaze. "You don't have to... pretend you're fine, Satin. I know I really scared you." https://archiveofourown.org/works/71269551/chapters/225731281
Old fanfic writer rant incoming:
I'm 40+ and I've been writing fan fiction for 10 ass years, meaning I'm basically a newbie because my only experience of fanfiction.net are posts from people telling us novices how the censored old days were. The amount of amazing stories I've read on ao3 over the years is one of the greatest treasures of my life and I've also seen so much fanart clearly done with love, passion and true talent. Fanart that, just like fan fiction, is DONE FOR FREE FOR THE LOVE OF THE STORIES! That's why it sucks to get messages from people who think we can't tell the difference between a genuine fan and a lazy scam artist. It also sucks because attempts at making fanfic writers pay for fanart, can hurt AO3 in the long run.
I'm OLD and the last thing I'd pay for in this economy, except from meme coins, is AI "art". You haven't created shit if you've used AI and that alone is depressing. The fact that you think we'd want to PAY for it, makes me miss the porn bots. If I some day really want fanart for a specific story, I'd reach out to one of the real artists I follow here, whom I know being into that specific fandom. Go and LEARN something for real, kids. AI isn't art and the best stories on AO3 are written by adults who have spent years working on their storytelling skills. If you don't even grasp the very base of what being a FAN means, you've failed at life.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Hi, baby." "S'been a while..." Satin makes a sound that's partly a chuckle, mostly something else and Jon nods at him. "Too tired to... move..." "Your hands, I don't... Can I hug you?" "You better..." It was worth those unwanted hands, Jon thinks with Satin's arms around him, his curls tickling his face and Jon nuzzles into his wet cheek. "Don't cry, silly... I'm not dead, just pale and ugly..."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There are no customers there when he steps inside the admittedly neat place and no owner either. "Just a moment, please!" The voice coming from a room behind the counter, is light and warm and when the man it belongs to comes out, he looks a little startled. "Hello, sir, do you wish to make an appointment?" "No, thanks. I'm... Are you Satin Flowers?" "Yes, sir. Can I help you with something?" The man seems more nervous now and Benjen finally remembers how he must come across. "I'm Benjen Stark. Jon's uncle."
Where September Was Long Chapter 48
"Okay, how much do you know about all of this?" "You mean the assault?" "Uh-huh." "I read every article about it. I know about the wolf head too. And I know Jon… sees things that aren't there. That he hurts himself when…"
Thinking about it doesn't make Arya sad. It makes her furious and right now, there's no good outlet for it except kicking rocks and that would upset Ghost. Satin look tense now, lips pressed hard to a thin line and he nods.
"He thinks he's dying."
https://archiveofourown.org/works/71269551/chapters/221529726
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"How are you holding up, Satin?" "Alive but not kicking, I guess. Don't tell me I look tired, I'm aware." "That would be to state the obvious and I've already insulted four people today." "Only four?" "I've had patients with unusually good manners." "Before or after they were sedated?" The man who often hides his worry behind dark humor, looks like he's spent every ounce of his energy on customer service this day and he slumps back in the chair, sighing. "I'd planned on making a video call with Ghost today... Totally forgot about it." "You know it's perfectly alright if you don't visit every day, right?" "Yeah, but I want to. Even if he doesn't know I'm here, it's just..." "What you need?"
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"They'll heal with time and a hell of a patience." "How much?" "Time? Six weeks if you're lucky. Patience? About as much as you can muster and double that. The knee could probably work sooner, that is, if the PTSD is kept in check."
The nurse shakes his head, like a baffled teacher over a really stupid pupil.
"Valar Morghulis... Doesn't mean you should actively make it easy for it."
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
There's a special kind of cruelty in the isolation of pain all too many share in secret and the man who only just stopped screaming, is just another link in that chain of human misery that loves company yet pushes everyone away. Sometimes, the only way to address it is a needle, for there's no point in reasoning with a mind unable to separate nightmares from unbearable reality. Fear, after all, is a very efficient savior, but unfortunately known for its impaired precision. That is why the man who's screams have turned quieter, weaker, has been held down despite the obvious terror it stirred up. It's also why another man, who thought he was on his way home, finds himself walking from another part of the hospital down to the locker rooms, changing into new scrubs and turning right back into the elevator he just came out of.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
The laptop beeps to inform it's almost out of power and Jon takes it as a sign to log off and put it away. There truly isn't anything else he can do today, especially not for poor Gwin who now lies in a freezer at the wildlife vet's office and with the way Ghost sticks to Satin, Jon knows his own direwolf dog feels neglected and that wont do. "Wanna make me and Ghost company outside? He needs to run." "Of course." So do I, Jon thinks, wishes he could, knows he can't. Gwin will never run again so it feels stupid to go on a self-pity rant.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
"Mormont!" "Ygritte? There's a problem, lass?" "Aye, you could say that..." With the help of some cursing, Mormont forces his aching old body through the mist and almost walks right into Ygritte, who stares at the ground a few meters before her. "Look, boss." "Aye..." They're silent for a moment, both of them frozen by the scene as if they can't comprehend what they're seeing.
An Archive of Our Own, a project of the Organization for Transformative Works
He gets a sprinkle of conditioner spray of some sorts, it smells sweet and flowery, of a summer now asleep under slowly thickening covers of leaves, dying in a sparkle of audacious colors.
Like rustling fireworks before the frost takes over. Blood red, glowing orange and bright yellow in a final, defiant show-off. Amidst them the odd, spot of green, still clinging onto a fading summer, left to die before its time.
All of them letting go without pitying their short span of life, insignificant in its colorful vanity when compared to that of the grey, brown, white or ashen tree dropping them to the ground. And yet, it's the short-lived abundance of it all, that makes the dying glow in red and gold.
Autumn, in truth, is a second spring and every single falling leaf, a flower.
Also, release the Epstein files.
